Just like the eyes, our hands has its own way of conveying messages that word cannot even begin to explain.

For me the hand is there for you to have a forward action to reach out, for the touch as simple as it may be can transcend what may be inside of you towards another person.

That’s why we have hands, to touch, may it be to touch a person, a thing, a life, or even the world.

We have hands so we can reach out, we may feel like we are getting things all the time, but even in the act of getting you still touch, you chose to touch, you chose to give or you chose to take. you say so much by those actions and with the simple act of a hand, you convey who you are, and what you choose to do

Mãos : primeira associação « I want to hold your hand » beatles… mãos que se unem na oração, toque, carinho, suave… mãos que tocam… mãos que batem, mãos que machucam…
(vc me ensinou que ao escrever eu devo liberar tudo mesmo o mal)
Lembrei tb de uma amiga que tem por um problema de nascência não possui alguns dedos da mão esquerda e direita, e quanto ela fez disso uma alquimia na vida dela, ja que se trata de uma pessoa muito abençoada, que de forma alguma se deixou abater por este problema, ao contrario, fez disso uma benção.
Energia, amor, luz, instrumento…
MARG,
Ca

Das mãos
Postado por Paulo Coelho em 14 de abril de 2009 às 03:20
Midrash Rabba, sobre o Eclesiastes:

“Quando o homem vem ao mundo, suas mãos estão sempre fechadas, como se quisesse dizer:

- O mundo inteiro é meu e conseguirei dominá-lo.

Quando o homem parte do mundo, suas mãos estão sempre abertas, como se quisesse dizer:

- Não tenho nada em meu poder. Tudo o que posso levar são minhas lembranças, tudo o que posso deixar são meus exemplos”.

Beijos,

I do the same with a nice car: I touch it.

And with furniture, flowers, shoes, trees, porcelain… everything.

When I like a man, I need to touch his skin – I can never get enough of that. Just touching his shoulders and back when he is on top of me can drive me crazy.

I touch myself: my body, hair, feet, clothes, lips.

Hands are my mean to discover the world around me, as well as myself.

Love,
Rossana

i love u paulo… love u lots

d last evening i met wid n accident n have hurt my right hand. i was bitter n sad cuz i hv n important exam to write in next 3 days n d doctors say i need a minimum 2 week rest.. m sad bt maybe now is the tym to rest those beautiful 2 little hands of mine who have given me sm of d most satisfying times of work n keep my mind in action.
thanks for rekindling my faith in myself..
lotsa love to all

with love Angela (Starlight my space)

Yes, that is the painting I had in mind, these two hands almost touching, almost sculpture in its power, young man’s in its vulnerability and old’s in its power and force.

Romans might have conquered Greeks by arms, but Greeks conquered them by culture. In this painting I can also see great sculptures (Laokont) that has nothing to do with creation, on the contrary !

Thank you !

Love
Luce

Love,
Mirela(the woman in elevator)

Love,
Rossana

My first teacher let me learn to write with left hand, two years later another teacher came and she made me change the hand so I learned to write with right hand !

Result now is that I am using both hands almost equaly !

My associations :

- The Hands – novel of Ranko Marinković, about duality in every person
- Michelangelo, The Sistine Chapel: “The Creation of Adam”

Love
Luce

About hands…without our hands we can’t do anything or feel anything or create or show our strength or kindness. The sense of touch is intimately associated with our hands and through the action of our hands our feelings show.
I’m sure you know this poem which is called ”Footprints in the sand”…even thought it refers to the feet, by the end of it you realize that its the hand of God that carries us in times of difficulty…

One night I dreamed a dream.
I was walking along the beach with my Lord. Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to me and one to my Lord.

When the last scene of my life shot before me I looked back at the footprints in the sand. There was only one set of footprints. I realized that this was at the lowest and saddest times of my life. This always bothered me and I questioned the Lord about my dilemma.

“Lord, You told me when I decided to follow You, You would walk and talk with me all the way. But I’m aware that during the most troublesome times of my life there is only one set of footprints. I just don’t understand why, when I need You most, You leave me.”

He whispered, “My precious child, I love you and will never leave you, never, ever, during your trials and testings. When you saw only one set of footprints, It was then that I carried you.”

I have been sad latly, done a lot of work the last year and invested all my money in writing storyies, poems, songs, draw, painted, maked art and nature photos to make sonething realy new. so today I tried the womans way, learn of my best friend, not my future wife. So I bought a diamond ring put it in my right hand, and feel very happy, maybe it is magic, my muscles are calm. Since I am norwegian, I wanted a Norwgian design bought it from http://www.signatursmykker.no
I think this is strange, anyone heard of this before ?

love Are

When you look at a person’s hands, you see – I see – the real person, as they truly are, not the mask that they wear as a public face. Our hair, we cut and style and color. Our face – well, there is no end there to the things we might do to it to make it prettier, more handsome, more presentable. We also, at least to some degree, have the ability to control the expression on our face. But the hands do not lie. And it does not matter if you have a manicure, or paint your nails, or even have fake nails applied – these are just the nails: look at the back of the hand, the pattern of the veins that show through the skin, the crevices in the knuckles, the palm upturned and open. Every little line and crease, every little bump and bulge tells a story. The size and shape of the palm, the distance between the fingers when outstretched, the shapes of the fingertips, bulbous or pointed, the fingers themselves, stubby and round or long and slender…. It is an intricate landscape and one that never seeks to hide the true essence of the individual whom it represents.

Sometimes I see people’s hands and they make me gasp, a quick and spontaneous intake of breath initiated by a sight of beauty. Some hands are sublime, regardless of what the person looks like who is wearing them. Other hands frighten me and cause me to shrink back in hesitancy and suspicion. The person whose hands they are may seem perfectly normal, completely harmless, but the sight of their hands is like a neon sign, flashing: DANGER, BEWARE. Hands that make me want to run away. I think, what have those hands done that this person is unwilling to tell, that maybe no one knows but themselves? This is why I look at a person’s hands, even when I don’t give a great deal of regard to physical appearances otherwise. Hands tell the truth of the matter, they reveal the essential nature of the person behind the mask of physical appearances.

But, all this aside, for whatever reason, I have just always imagined that there would be this person who would come into my life – a “Soul Mate,” “Twin Flame,” whatever term you like: the companion to my soul – and I would recognize this person by his hands alone. Sometimes I imagine this “line-up,” like the kind they have when a witness is called in to identify a criminal from a group of suspects. Except, this line-up would be different. All the “suspects” would be wearing hoods and oversized black tunics, with large sleeves, so that even the form of their bodies would not be revealed. Then, all would be asked to line up in a row against an equally blank backdrop, and requested to hold out their hands for the person behind the mirror to see. And I would be the woman standing on the other side of that mirror, peering through, and, in an instant, all would be revealed: I would know who the man was that I had been waiting all my life to meet.

It is a rather silly idea, I know, but it is one that has stayed with me, as I say, for many years. And if someone asked me, even today, “How will you know your Soul Mate when and if you ever meet him?” I would respond, “I will know him by his hands, surely.”

There is one other thing that I associate with the hand, that again I cannot explain: it is a strange habit that I have had since I was a child. I grew up spending much time roaming about in the forest, often alone, or with a pet or two, and always for me the forest was a magical place. The tress themselves had spirits. Some of them I gave names to, and even talked to, much as one might go and “talk to” the figure adorning a shrine – almost like a prayer to the Divine. Somehow I developed this habit: as I was walking through the forest, I would pass a tree – not every tree, and not every day, just sometimes, certain trees – I would reach out, of a sudden, and smack the palm of my right hand flat against the trunk, removing it just as quickly as I had put it there. Almost like a handshake, but something more. Something like making a connection on some very deep level, but also like a show of reverence, and, at the time, a plea, like asking for a blessing, the way that one might ask the blessing of the Keeper of a Door in passing through it. It makes no sense whatsoever on a rational level, but the impulse to do this – and an “impulse” it is, it is never planned – this impulse overtakes me and in passing by some tree, I reach out my palm and smack it flat against the trunk. The motion is quick, instantaneous, and yet somehow deeply meaningful to me.

So that is what I think of when I think of hands.

When my father died and he lay in the casket. I viewed his face and body without emotion. But then when I touched his hands that were coarse through the many years as laborer and felt his calluses, I cried. Tears flowed from me because at that very moment I knew that all his decisions in life had impacted my own life; for better or worse. I was in gratitude to his hard work as laborer for without his strong hands our family would still be in Mexico.

So the hands for me are the physical manifestation of ‘free will’ and choose.

Thanks Paulo,

Ramiro